


Waverly, Iowa

by humancorn



Series: phlint [1]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Boyfriends and Bootyshorts, Clint is from Iowa and if I remember correctly phil is from minnesota, Fluff, Hometown AU, M/M, Only Mentions - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Protective Phil Coulson, Waverly Iowa, he's a well adjusted one he is, he's from wisconsin, it's clint what do you expect, pardon me i looked it up for the fifth time, their hometowns are actually only like 5 hours apart and wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 08:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humancorn/pseuds/humancorn
Summary: Just two midwestern boys out on a stroll. promptmephlint.tumblr.com





	Waverly, Iowa

**Author's Note:**

> Things I forgot were a thing until I started writing this: Tornado Alley. I also had a bit of trouble with this because I like, cannot accurately tell ages via appearances and I’ve never seen Clint’s age listed for what age his parents died/he and Barney ran away from the orphanage, so my apologies. In this he ran away from the orphanage at the age of 12, which seems a bit too old, but in order to like remember people, I feel like he would have had to have been a bit older...I don’t know.  Also: my rough draft for my major thesis is almost done. Hallelujah.

 

Waverly, Iowa.

Midwest. A little south of Minnesota, a little west of Wisconsin. Part of Tornado Alley. 

 

Actually, not  _ that  _ far from Phil’s hometown. Sometimes, he wondered. Late at night, when Clint was long-gone or dead-asleep beside him. Could they have met before Shield? Wondered if he’d actually seen Clint in the circus when his dad took him as a kid and just...never noticed. Wondered if he could’ve helped him sooner. Wondered what would’ve happened if he had. 

He’s usually jolted out of this train of thought by a call from Fury or Clint rolling over onto him and snuggling close to his side. 

 

Waverly, Iowa. 

Phil is sure he’s never been here, sure he’s never set foot on Iowa soil. And yet, it’s familiar. Eerily familiar in an uncomfortable sense, like when you think you see someone you knew that you know died 2 years ago.

 

When Clint had received a letter from his old hometown, saying he was to be commended for his service at Shield and was to be given a ‘key to the city’, Phil was skeptical. From what Clint had told him about his childhood in Waverly, Phil was sure it wasn’t a place Clint would like to return to. And Clint had surprised him, as he always does, by accepting the comendation almost instantaneously.

 

And so here they were, strolling around Waverly the day before the ceremony. Everything seemed legitimate, and though Phil still had this inkling feeling that something was  _ off,  _ he kept it to himself. Holding hands, smiling, making general fools of themselves. Surprisingly, Clint seemed excited, as if old plastic diner booths and the over-arching smell of lilacs in the park and the slightly grease-stained motel carpet were the best things he’d ever seen. Phil had to admit, the town was pretty and the people seemed nice. Waving at Clint, with only the occasional few doing double-takes, with frightened eyes, like they’d seen a ghost. 

 

It was only when they stopped for dinner, at another ‘Totally Different™, Not At All The Same Thing, Phil, Obviously This One Is  _ Better”  _ diner, that they finally met someone that Clint actually recognized. He’d frozen, for a second. Paused, and then smiled, fond and warm and Phil could feel himself smile despite himself. Nothing could ever cheer him up like a genuine smile from his husband. A few words exchanged, quick handshake, and then the other man was gone, Clint still happy as a clam. And that’s how it all began. Apparently, according to the second person they had run into, this diner had become a ‘hangout of sorts’ for most of the ‘old gang’ that Clint had apparently been in in the beginnings of middle school.

 

A big, dark-haired woman with a low voice and golden-shining earrings eventually approached them with their food and Clint had recognized her as well. She’d introduced herself as Sheila and reminisced about old times in what Phil assumed as late elementary school, but it was never truly specified. Tales of old nemeses (that guy who threw erasers at Clint during math class and the slew of kids who apparently teased Sheila) and rumors of how old teachers were doing nowadays. 

Another, older woman came into the diner halfway through their meal, stopped dead cold in her tracks with a scowl the size of Texas before it morphed into an odd half-smile, half-smirk. 

“Is that Clinton? Clinton Francis Barton?” She’d yelled across the diner, voice soft, but clear.

“Well there’s the old bitch now. How are ya, Ms. Schefield?” Clint waved as Sheila snickered beside him.

“Heard you’re gettin’ a key to the city, boy.” Ms. Schefield tottered over to their table, cane in her hand bedazzled with too many green rhinestones. 

“Yeah, proud of me?” Clint smiled and it was obviously meant in an inflammatory way, as if he were expecting her to deny it or shoot him down.

“Always proud of my old students when they do something good. Keep up the good work, Francis.” Ms. Schefield limped away and Clint looked like he’d been shot.

“Yeah, she’s calmed down a lot in recent years. Sorry, pal.” Sheila left the booth after giving Clint her number on a napkin and patting him on the shoulder. Phil smiled as Clint tucked the napkin away in the breast pocket of his flannel, hand lingering over it. 

 

Sappy, sentimental fool. 

  
  


“Seems like you used to know a lot of people around here.” Phil commented after they’d made it back to the motel for the night.  Clint looked at him, rolled over on the bed and wrapped an arm around Phil, head resting languidly on his partner’s chest.

“Friends are a blessing for kids who don’t have a good home to go back to. My parent’s house was war when my dad came home, and after they died, the orphanage wasn’t much better, y’know?” Clint smiled, “I remember all the good times with all of them and try to forget everything else. I suppose that’s what people would call ‘coping’.” 

“Memories are all we have in the end; coping or not, they’re good to keep close by,” Phil kissed the top of his head and shut his eyes, “Hope our memories together will be as good as the ones you have with all of them.”

“I’m sure they will be, babe.” Clint nuzzled into Phil’s chest as they both drifted off to sleep.  

  



End file.
